The Case of the Chalice Killers
by Craig Sterling
Summary: Two detectives race against time to catch a vicious group of criminals. Will the detectives stop them, or will the criminals bring Elwood City to its knees? Rated T: pervasive language, strong graphic violence, and explicit depictions of rape and nudity.
1. Chapter 1: A Shot in the Night

CHAPTER 1: A Shot in the Night

Detective Fern Walters lit a cigarette outside of the state penitentiary. As she inhaled the enticing, yet toxic fumes, she deeply pondered what the suspect had told her a few minutes before. There were six attackers according to the victim. _Such a drastic number_ , Fern thought as she looked around the parking lot. There were some cars from the third shift crew, but half the lot was empty. It was 2:41 in the morning, after all. "It's dead time now…" the detective said to herself. "Somewhere out there, the gang of violators are scheming, strategizing to slay their next victim…" Fern spat on the concrete. Smoking always activated her saliva glands.

"You should really quit smoking there, Walters."

Fern turned around. Her partner was standing in the doorway to the prison. He was grinning like usual. Fern didn't say anything. She was not in the mood for jokes or games. Not at this point in the case.

"Can I bum a smoke off you at least?" Asked her partner as he walked up beside her. Fern pulled the cigarettes out of her pocket and handed them to her good-natured associate ("friend" would probably be too much a stretch). Her partner took one of the cigarettes and put it in his mouth. He then chuckled to himself. "Got a light too?" he said, handing her back the pack of nails. Fern took the pack and pulled out her lighter and placed it in his open hand. It was one of these fancy silver lighters you find in display cabinets at gas stations. "Thanks," muttered her partner, as he lite up too. The two detectives stood there in silence, each using every bit of nicotine to keep them awake. By the way things were going, it was going to be a long night.

"What do you think? Hard to tell her level of sanity," said Fern's partner, finally breaking the solemn silence. Fern finished her cigarette and flicked the burning stub out into the parking lot. "I think she's telling the truth, Baxter," replied Fern. Baxter, or Buster Baxter, as his full name, hit a long drag of cigarette. "I think she's full of shit," he said bluntly as he adjusted the collar of his jacket. It was cold outside, being November in Elwood City. Fern kept watching the parking lot. Why did she feel like they were being watched?

Buster glanced over at his quiet partner. "These attackers aren't stupid enough to get close to prison, ya know," he said. Fern's eyes started scanning one car to the next. No one in that van. No one in that truck…she put her hand into her overcoat pocket, where her loaded revolver was ready. "Try me, you bastards," she thought to herself as she felt the wooden and steel grip of the weapon. Buster finished his cigarette and walked down the two steps onto the pavement of the lot. He methodically put out the burning stub, and then flicked the stub off to the side where the small ravine was. He turned to his partner.

"We should probably go back inside and try again," Buster said as he began to climb up to Fern's level again. Fern nodded. "If she messes up the details of the incident, then I'll change my mind about her testimony," Fern said, and went to open the door back into the prison. BANG! A bullet whizzed right past Fern's head and made contact with the brick wall. Fern wiped out her revolver and started firing shots. It was the old, red sedan. She noticed it looked suspicious, but she wasn't sure at first. Now, it was obvious. BANG! Another shot was fired from the vehicle, this time hitting the slack in Buster's jacket. Full of busting nerves, Buster struggled to pull out his pistol. Fern held her ground and fired the remaining bullets. Click. Empty. Buster finally got out his firearm and turned to Fern.

"Which vehicle was it?" he asked. He was shaking a little.

Fern pointed to the suspected car, and quickly popped more shells into her revolver. "I think I got him," said Fern as she rushed over to her partner. The two investigators bent down and scurried behind cars for cover. They went from vehicle to vehicle, keeping full attention on their target. Several of the prison guards, each armed with .12 gauge shotguns, opened the exit door and yelled for the detectives. Buster stood up from behind their current cover and waved off the backup. "He's not shooting at the prison guards, that's a good sign," whispered Buster as he knelt back down. Fern kept her eyes on the red sedan. The driver side window was open. Several bullet holes pierced the door.

"Cover me, Baxter. I'm going in," Fern whispered as she made a cross sign with two of her fingers. She wasn't exactly a devout Catholic, but if God could protect her at this point of time, she would probably repay the favor by attending Mass for once. Buster gave her a thumbs up, and Fern ran over to the back of the sedan. She kept her head clear from the rear window. She figured the shooter was playing dead to lure them into a trap. Buster watched from the next row of cars with his pistol aimed right at the target. Fern made eye contact with her partner. They both nodded to each other, and Fern quickly got up, and ran to open the driver door.

"FREEZE!" she yelled with her gun pointed as she whipped open the door. Buster saw no movement. Then Fern lowered her gun. "It's clear, Baxter," she said, still looking into the driver side of the vehicle. Buster got up and ran over to his partner. They both looked into the vehicle. Fern was right. She hit her target. A bleeding man was slouched over the steering wheel. He was coughing up blood. Fern got him on the right side of the chest going through the abdomen, just where she wanted. To the left, and the shooter would have died of a punctured heart in under a minute.

Buster pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Fern grabbed the shooter and leaned him back. He slowly turned his head to look at the person who shot him. Fern ignored the eye contact and worked on unbuckling the seat belt. "Parked in a lot at 3am and you still have a seat belt on?" Thought Fern as she tried to avoid getting too much blood on her hands and jacket. Fern wasn't fancy, but that jacket wasn't cheap either. With the seatbelt off, the shooter could breathe easier, increasing chances of survival and interrogation. She then checked his pockets. No wallet. No ID. "Damn it," she thought to herself.

"Ambulance will be here in 5," commented Buster as he dialed another number. The shooter started coughing up blood again. It was dripping all over the steering wheel and on the wind shield. "They better hurry or we got a dead criminal on our hands," breathed Fern as she pulled out her inspection gloves. She quickly put them on and reached over the shooter and grabbed his weapon. After pulling it out of the car, the female detective scanned every detail. 2-barrell .22 rifle. Wooden stock. Made by Taylor Guns, in Pittsburgh. Buster hung up the phone a second time. "DCI Petrofus said she's on her way," said Buster. He looked over at the firearm. "Pretty pathetic rifle, huh?" Fern nodded, and looked back at the shooter. "Let's hope he makes it. This might be related to the case," she said. Fern carefully put the rifle down and pulled out her pack of smokes. "You just had one!" exclaimed Buster. Fern ignited a cigarette. "Too much excitement for one night," she replied as she looked at the road and waited for the Detective Chief Inspector (DCI) to arrive at the scene. "If this shooter is related to the case," Fern thought to herself, "then maybe this was the lead we are looking for…" The two detectives stood out in the cold, and anticipated the arrivals of both Petrofus and the ambulance. Overhead, the crescent moon became covered with overcast. Rain clouds.


	2. Chapter 2: Rendezvous in the Rain

CHAPTER 2: Rendezvous in the Rain

It began to sprinkle rain as the ambulance arrived. The medical vehicle came only moments before Petrofus. As the medics tended to the wounded shooter, Fern and Buster described the incident with their boss. Petrofus absorbed every word her two detectives said with unbreakable eye contact. Her intensity was similar to Fern's, but at least Fern could make a joke on occasion. DCI Kaylie Petrofus rarely even smiled. "This shooter was trying to take you two out because you were on his lead," stated Petrofus, as she watched the medics pull the shooter out of the car and onto a stretcher. Fern nodded in agreement. "DCI, why would he come alone though? I thought there were six in the group," asked Fern. This question had bothered her since the moment she saw the shooter all alone in the vehicle. Petrofus pulled out her cell phone and started to dial a number. "Couldn't tell you, Walters," she replied as she put the phone up to her ear. "But we'll have Powers look over the forensic evidence here and see if we can come up with an explanation."

Alan Powers, or "Brain" as he was called in school, was the Head of the Forensics Science sect of the Elwood City police force. His intelligence was beyond compare, but he was difficult to contact after 11pm. By that point, he claims, he needed to restore brain cells through sleep. Petrofus had no success contacting Powers, and tried calling again. While their boss was busy, Fern and Buster watched as the medics loaded the injured shooter into the back of the ambulance. "Will he make it?" asked Fern to one of the medics. The medic picked up his bag of medical equipment. "Probably. You just missed his right lung. Nice shot." He then got into the ambulance, and it drove off.

Fern tried to conceal a smile of pride. She always had confidence in her aim ever since she won a target pistol competition as a sophomore in high school. Buster noticed the look on his partners face, and let out a chuckle. "If you actually used a pistol issued by the police force, your shot would be even better." Fern pulled out her revolver and looked at it with admiration. "I don't think so, Baxter," she said. "There's something about having only six shots. Makes you really conscientious about how you shoot." Baxter pulled out an already-opened granola bar and started to take a bite. "True, but I'd rather have my GLOCK." He put his free hand into his holster and felt the touch of the black weapon. "22 rounds per magazine. A lot better than six."

Petrofus hung up her phone and placed it back into her pocket. "Powers said he'll be here in fifteen minutes," said the DCI. "As expected, he wasn't happy to be awoken, but he's getting paid for a reason." Petrofus walked up to the sedan and inspected it. "Did you check for any clues?" she asked without breaking eye contact with the vehicle. Fern and Buster walked over beside their boss. "No other weapons besides the .22 rifle," commented Fern. Buster continued to munch on his granola bar. "No license plate or personal ID either," added Buster with a mouth full of food. Petrofus put on her inspection gloves and leaned over into the sedan. She opened up the compartment in between the two front seats. "Empty," said Petrofus with a hint of frustration.

The three detectives methodically checked the vehicle while they waited for Alan to arrive. Roughly fifteen minutes later, the rain began to fall more intensely as a car pulled up to the scene. Forensic Scientist Alan Powers stepped out the car and ran over to his detective colleagues. He already had his inspection gloves and glasses on. Without saying salutations, he pulled out tweezers and swabs. The three detectives stepped back as their genius scientist began collecting samples: fingerprints, blood, hair, dead skin, whatever piece of forensic evidence was available. Normally this part of the investigation was detective work, but with the high stakes of the current case, Petrofus decided it would be better if their best mind had the first crack at the evidence. After what seemed like hours in the rain, Alan wiped the sweat and rain off his forehead. "I'll take these to the lab and find a match," he said as he started putting away collection tubes into a small bag. "Good work, Powers," grunted the DCI.

Alan got back into his car and drove off. Petrofus turned to her two junior detectives. "Any luck with interrogating her?" asked Petrofus with an extra-stern look on her face. Fern shook her head no. "Without evidence, it's hard to believe her story." Buster pulled out a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth. "If she's faking, she's a pretty good actor though," he added. Petrofus looked over at the prison. "The accusation, the shooting…they're all related," observed the DCI. Fern pulled her collar closer to her neck to keep the rain out. "I agree, DCI. Let's see if Baxter and I can connect the two." Petrofus looked at Fern and Buster. "You two are the best we got in Elwood City," she said solemnly, "and with all these rapes and murders happening, the culprits have to be stopped asap. I'm counting on you." Petrofus then walked away to her car, and got in. As their boss drove off into the night, Fern and Buster started heading back into the state penitentiary.

"This time, I'll do most the talking," said Fern to her partner. Buster shrugged. "Fine by me. Wonder if she has anything convincing to say this time?" Fern checked her phone: 3:56am. "I don't know, Baxter," replied the female detective, "but DCI is right. I bet the girl's story and the murder are related. We just have to see how."


	3. Chapter 3: Some Compelling Evidence

CHAPTER 3: A Compelling Piece of Evidence

Fern and Buster headed inside the state penitentiary. They knew right where they were heading: Cell 101A, where their accuser resided. With the accompaniment of three prison guards, the pair of detectives walked up to the barred door. Being 4am, it was no surprise the accuser was fast asleep on her cot. One of the guards, a burly man, tapped one of the bars with his baton. The metallic ring echoed throughout the massive corridor where hundreds of female inmates lived day in and day out. The sound managed to wake up the accuser. She sat up in her cot, and looked at the two detectives with a deep sadness in her eyes.

"Make it quick," growled one of the guards, as he unlocked the cell. The detectives ignored the guard's words, and walked into the cell. Fern stood in front the accuser. Buster sat down on the ground with his back against the cinder block wall. "We're going to try this again," Fern said with an intense look at the accuser. Fern knew the prisoner back in high school. "Jenna, we want to believe you, but we need more evidence for your story," added Buster as he pulled out a digital voice recorder. He held it near Jenna's face. The prisoner looked exhausted with bags under her eyes, but she took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. Buster hit the record button and nodded to his partner.

"State your name, please," said the female detective.

"Jenna Morgan," replied Jenna without any emotion.

"Do you know why you are here in this prison, Jenna?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I murdered my husband."

"How did you murder your husband?"

"I took a kitchen knife and stabbed him in the stomach."

"When did you murder your husband?"

"Four days ago."

"What is your husband's name?"

"Rattles Kowalski."

"Why did you murder your husband, Rattles Kowalski?"

"Because I he and some of his friends gang raped me."

Fern kept her gaze steady on Jenna. "This is when things get too messy for my liking," Fern thought to herself. She did her best not to show any expression on her face. Professionalism was everything during an interrogation, even in a prison cell in the depths of night.

"Please describe the rape event to me, Jenna."

Jenna broke eye contact with Fern and started staring at her hands. She was nervously playing with her fingers, and obviously struggling to compose her emotions. A tear formed in her eye and she let out a quiet sob. Fern remained very monotone and stable. She asked the question again: "Jenna, please describe the rape event."

"I was…," Jenna began as she looked up and stared off into space. She put her hand to her mouth to cover the sobs that were slowing trickling out. More and more tears began to flow from her eyes. Fern knelt down to the sitting prisoner. She placed a reassuring hand on Jenna's shoulder. Fern knew this was hard for Jenna, because Fern believed she was telling the truth. Now the detective just needed the rehashing again and some evidence.

Fern's hand must have done the trick, because Jenna remade eye contact with the detective. "I was at my house in the kitchen, about five days ago," said Jenna, this time with a calmness in her voice. "And I heard knocking at the front door. I went up to check to see who it was. I opened the door, and no one was there. 'Must have been pranksters,' I told myself, and went back into the kitchen. I was washing dishes in the sink. Then I felt a pain…like a bee-sting…in my neck and everything went black." Jenna then stopped, and took another breath to collect herself.

Fern glanced over at Buster, who glanced over at her. The two knew this part of the story. The 'bee-sting' was obviously a needle injection of some drug. The knock at the door was some kind of signal. It was basically the same story Jenna told them a few hours ago before the shooting in the parking lot. "There's got to be a connection between this rape, the shooting, and the murders…" calculated Fern in her mind. She returned eye contact with Jenna. "Please, continue," said the detective.

Jenna's eyes were still shedding a few tears. "Then I woke up very foggy. My head was throbbing, and my whole body ached, like I just ran a marathon. As my senses slowly came to, I realized I was strapped down to a table. My arms and legs were attached to chains and stretched out towards the walls. I was in my unfinished basement. My necked was strapped down the table, so it was hard to get a full view of my surroundings…then they came in through a door in front of me…" Jenna stopped again, and started to cry harder. Fern kept her hand on Jenna's shoulder. "It's alright, Jenna, it's alright," whispered Fern. "Detective Baxter and I need to hear this story again so we can find who raped you." Jenna nodded in understanding, and wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

"They came in through the door. There were six of them, I think. Whatever drug they put in me, it made everything blurry. I wasn't entirely sure if I was hallucinating, but it looked like six. Each one had long, black cloaks on, and also a mask…the masks had no faces on them…they just looked blank. I don't know how they could see out of them. Then one of them stepped forward right next to me. He took off the mask. It was Rattles, my own husband. He didn't smile at me, or tell me everything would be okay. He just looked at me, as if he didn't even know me. Then he started talking about his group, called The Chalice Killers. I didn't understand him at all…he was talking about vengeance, the balance of humanity, and power. My head was throbbing so bad, it was hard to focus on what he was trying to tell me…" Jenna stopped, and took another deep breath between her sobs. "Please, go on, Jenna," said Fern. Buster kept the recorder rolling.

"I was so afraid…it wasn't Rattles…I know it was literally him, but it was like he was a completely different person. Then after he was done talking, he put his mask back on. Then they all started taking my clothes off, piece by piece. By the time I was naked, I knew I would get assaulted. Rattles then lifted up his cloak. He was naked underneath. Then they all raped me…one by one…I screamed and screamed, trying to get someone to hear me. The longer I screamed, the more I thought I was going to die…"

"But you didn't die, Jenna," interrupted Fern. "Why not?"

"Because there was a loud knock at the front door upstairs. I think it was my neighbor, Doug Lange. He started yelling that he heard screaming and was coming to help. I felt another bee sting, then everything went black. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital."

"What happened to your neighbor?"

"When no one came to answer the door, he tried to open it, but it was locked. Then he called the police. By the time the police got there, Doug said, there were no signs of the straps, chains, table, nothing. They just found me unconscious on the floor in my basement, fully clothed, as if I just passed out or something."

Fern took her hand off of Jenna and stood back up. "Okay, that's enough, Baxter," she said. Buster turned off the recording device and stood up as well. "I told you the same story again…now do you believe me?" asked Jenna. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were still a little watery. Fern gave Buster with a contemplating look. Buster shrugged his shoulders as a response, and two detectives looked back at Jenna.

"Jenna, your story is compelling, but the problem is the scene of the crime had no forensic evidence to support your story," said Fern. It pained her to say that, but as a detective, she couldn't just side with a high school friend's accusation out of emotional support. "Your body showed no signs of trauma. Your neck had no visible injection sight. The only evidence is that Rattles was not home when you were down in that basement. Then the next day, you murdered him while he was asleep," stated Fern, trying to sound as objective as possible. Jenna looked at her bare feet. She could feel the cold, concrete in between her toes. Fern and Buster watched Jenna carefully, waiting for the prisoner to respond to Fern's unfortunate statement.

Jenna suddenly raised her head. "Detectives, can I have a moment of privacy? I have Nocturnal Enuresis, and sometimes I need to go during the night." The detectives nodded, and turned away while Jenna walked over to the small toilet in the corner of the cell. Fern heard unzipping, and clothes being shuffled down. "Oh my God!"

Fern and Buster quickly shot around and stared at Jenna. Jenna was looking down at her exposed groin. All around her inner thighs and genitals, were dozens of small, open sores. "Wh- what is this?!" half-screamed Jenna. Fern and Buster ran over to her and knelt down. "Baxter, call the prison doc," ordered Fern as she carefully examined the sores. Pus and blood was slowly seeping from them. Buster ran out of the cell to get a better signal. Fern looked up at Jenna. "I think we've found the evidence to support your story, Jenna," said Fern with a determined look on her face. Jenna looked horrified. "But, but how's _this_ going to help?" Fern stood up. "Because those sores look like they came from an STD, which you could have gotten when you were raped by those six men."

Jenna sat down on the toilet with her slacks still at her ankles. "Detective, I just peed a few hours ago. These sores weren't there then! I didn't even feel them forming either!" exclaimed Jenna. Fern shook her head. "Jenna, some STD's take a few days to manifest. If you were indeed raped five days ago, it would make sense you wouldn't see the sores until now," said Fern. Jenna nodded, didn't move her mouth. She continued to look off into space, as if trying to figure out how her life came to be such a mess. Fern looked up at her old friend. "We'll have the doctor examine you for your safety. If you don't mind, I also need a sample to bring back to the forensics lab." Fern pulled out a swab and a collection tube with a cap. Jenna didn't say a word. Fern took this as compliance. She carefully swabbed some blood and pus into the collection tube, then twisted the cap on. She stood back up as Buster came back into the cell. "Doc's on his way," he said. "I also told the guards to chill out. They didn't like the ruckus we were producing, apparently," he added with a grin. Fern ignored her partner's humor and kept her focus on Jenna. Jenna's face was full of shock. She was breathing very steady, but small, breaths.

The prison doctor then came into the cell carrying a medical bag. "Thanks, doc," muttered Fern. Her and Buster turned to walk out of the cell. As they headed down the dark corridors to the exit, they discussed what they had just witnessed. Fern was holding the collection tube of pus and blood in her hand. She held it up to her eyes as they walked. "This is evidence, Walters, but if she was drugged, how do we know if she got the details right?" asked Buster. Fern thought about how to answer. "I'm not sure how accurate her story is…but the details match some of the details of the last murder," she said, still eying the tube. "My question is, if Rattles did rape her, why did he return home the next day only to be killed by Jenna?" asked Buster, "It seems strange." Fern put the tube down and placed it into her breast pocket. "Good point. I'm not sure on that either, but we're going to find out." replied Fern.

The two detectives exited the penitentiary and strolled over to their car. The rain had stopped, but there was still overcast. A cold breeze was blowing through the parking lot. Being November, there was no sign of the sunrise. Buster got into the driver's seat. Fern got into the passenger seat and looked at her watch. 5:02am. "Where to now?" asked Buster as he started the car. Fern yawned for the first time that night. "The forensics lab," she replied, and pulled out a cigarette. As they drove back to the lab at the police department, Fern kept replaying the conversation with Jenna over and over in her head. She contemplated all the possible explanations as she smoked her cigarette and tried to stay awake and alert.


	4. Chapter 4: Pieces of Light in Darkness

CHAPTER 4: Fragments of Light in a Sea of Darkness

Sue Ellen Armstrong heard her obnoxiously loud alarm clock go off. She sleepily reached over, hit the off button, then sat up. It was dark in her bedroom. With a yawn and a stretch of her arms, Sue Ellen hopped out of her queen size bed. Although it was only 6:15am, Sue Ellen felt good. She had always been a morning person, ever since she was little. It was no problem to wake up before the sunrise. The petite girl opened her bedroom door and walked into the kitchen. She turned on the light and got right into her morning routine. Within two minutes, a fresh, hot cup of coffee was ready to drink. Sue Ellen sat down at her kitchen table feeling relieved. It was Saturday, meaning it was her day off from a morning workout. Usually she jogged, did countless pushups and sit-ups, or beat the snot out of the punching bag in her basement. Not today. Today, she would do absolutely nothing, and it would be wonderful.

Sue Ellen drank her coffee, and debated what she could do on her day off. No workout, no teaching martial arts. Maybe go to a movie or go shopping? She immediately rejected those ideas though, because that meant actually getting dressed. Pajamas would be a much better option. She took a big sip of the hot, delectable coffee and leaned back in her chair. It was a simple life being a martial arts instructor, but it was fulfilling. Elwood City had become her home over the past twenty years, and there was no good reason to suddenly pack up and leave. Sure, it could be lonely and frustrating to be single, but life could be much worse. Sue Ellen lived around the world as a kid, and saw what third-world countries were like. This lifestyle was satisfying, for the moment at least.

Sue Ellen finished her coffee, and finally made a decision. Reading a book sounded good for the time being, and it gave her an excuse to drink another cup of coffee and cuddle on the couch with her blanket. She filled her cup again, and walked into the living room. She turned on a lamp, and glanced at the bookshelf. Sue Ellen was not a big reader, but she could flip more pages than the average person. After a moment of contemplation, she picked one she hadn't read in a while, and plopped down on the couch. With her cup of coffee, a warm blanket to snuggle with, and a cozy couch to sit on, everything was copacetic now.

About an hour later, Sue Ellen had finished her coffee and read through half a dozen chapters of the book. She decided it was time to get some breakfast, now that it was almost 7:30. In the kitchen, she prepared oatmeal with bananas and flax seed. Sue Ellen had been a vegetarian since 3rd grade, but she had gotten use to a life without eating meat. She went back into the living room to eat her breakfast on the couch. As she set the bowl of oatmeal on the nearby coffee table, she heard a loud knock at the front door. Sue Ellen was rather surprised. The mailman never came this early. She wasn't expecting any visitors. Perhaps it was her neighbor, an elderly woman, who needed help with something? Sue Ellen walked to the door and opened it. No one was there. With a shrug, she returned to the couch to eat. All of a sudden, she felt something like a bee sting in her neck, then everything went black.

Sue Ellen felt herself returning to consciousness. Her senses were slowly activating again, so she wasn't sure what happened to her. Almost instantly, she felt a throbbing pain in her head. She could feel her heart pumping blood to her brain, as if every heartbeat was sending violent pulses that gave her a terrible headache. Then she noticed her body ached all over, like she just got done sparring all afternoon at the dojo. As her eyesight gradually came to, she tried lifting her head. She felt something like a leather strap had been put across her neck. She could lift her head slightly, but not enough to get a 360 view. Feeling the strap, Sue Ellen immediately began to panic. She frantically scanned her body. Her eye sight was now good enough she could see that she was lying down and strapped by the torso to a table. Sue Ellen could feel the adrenaline and blood surging throughout her body. The large, empty, room she was in did not look familiar, in fact, she had no idea where she was. "Help!" screamed Sue Ellen as she looked at her arms and legs. They were chained to nearby wooden pillars and spread out towards all four corners of room. "Someone, please help!" yelled Sue Ellen again. She desperately tried to wiggle free of her bondage, but it was no use. She looked from one side of the room to the other, hoping to see somebody or something that could help her. "Heeellllppp!" she bellowed one more time. No answer. She put her head back down on the table and started to cry. She had no idea where she was, why she was there, or who did this to her. All she knew was that she was terrified. As the tears poured down her cheeks, Sue Ellen heard a door open. She shot her head up and tried to see who opened the door. Moments later, three figures wearing black cloaks and reflective masks appeared before her.

"Oh my god! Please help me, get me out of this!" said Sue Ellen. For a moment, she had hope they would help. Then, after realizing they didn't even flinch to her cry, she knew they must have done this to her. One of the figures stepped up to the end of the table and placed its gloved hands on the edge. Sue Ellen tried to see its face, but the reflective mask hid any signs of a face but her own. "Please…," cried Sue Ellen as she sobbed, "Please let me go. I'll do anything you want! I have money, I have a car! Please let me go!" The figure at the end of the table raised its hand as a command for silence.

"Welcome to your salvation, Sue Ellen Armstrong," said the figure. Its voice sounded computerized, as if a digital voice modifier was being used. Sue Ellen began to struggle even harder, trying to wiggle out of the straps. "I don't know how you know my name, but I'm not the person you're looking for!" she pleaded, trying to think of any way to appease her captors. The figure didn't move. "You are the just the person we are looking for, Sue Ellen," said the figure. Sue Ellen felt her heart racing. The pain in her head was still there, but the endorphins were keeping it at bay. "Who are you? What do you mean by 'we'?" cried the girl. The figure took its hands off the table and walked up to Sue Ellen. "We are the Chalice Killers, and we are here to bring you to your salvation." Sue Ellen stared at her reflection on the mask. "I don't need your fucking salvation! I need to be let free! Now let me go!" yelled Sue Ellen. She wanted to use her black belt training to tear these monsters to pieces. Break every bone in their bodies. But she couldn't get loose from the chains on her arms.

"Sue Ellen…" said the figure, "for years you have been a person of excellence. You had a 4.0 in high school and college, won multiple karate competitions, and have even published books on your international travels." Sue Ellen felt so lost. How did these maniacs know all of that about her? Were they stalking her all this time? "How is any of that important right now?" asked Sue Ellen with the calmest voice she could possibly muster. The figure ignored her question. "Ever since you were young, everyone has thought you were a perfect, little girl who could do no wrong. Every guy loved you, every girl wanted to be your friend. Even the teachers wanted you in their classes just to witness your brilliance. Unfortunately for you, your placement on the pedestal has made you overconfident. Haughty. Arrogant. You believe that you are better than everybody else, that everything you touch turns to gold. You are wrong, Sue Ellen!"

Sue Ellen tried again to break her hands free from the chains. "I don't think that! You're full of shit, you bastard!" she hissed with intense anger. Sweat was dripping down her forehead. A computerized laugh came from the figure. Then it slammed its fists hard down on the table, scaring Sue Ellen even more. "You will pay for your arrogance!" Bellowed the figure. The statement echoed throughout the room. The other two figures stood completely still with their hands at their sides. The figure pointed to the pair, with its reflective mask still looking at Sue Ellen. She saw the other two figures closing in on her. She struggled immensely as they began to take her pajamas off. As they got off her bottoms and top, Sue Ellen began to violently shake. "Fuck you! Get away from me you motherfuckers! I'll kill each and every one of you!" she screamed. The figures completely ignored her threats, and took her underwear off. Sue Ellen continued to fight, trying to break free. The more she tried, the more despair she felt. Finally, after several moments of rage, she immediately stopped. She could feel the cold November air sucking the heat out of her naked body. Tears still poured from her eyes.

The figure next to her then walked to the head of the table where her legs were spread out. It opened its cloak to reveal an erected penis. Sue Ellen had given up trying to fight. She lay there, crying uncontrollably, waiting for her body to be violated. As she felt the figure inserted himself into her, she looked up at the ceiling, where cracks of light broke through the roof. She focused on those fragments of light, and tried to ignore the sensation of aggressive thrusting. For what seemed like hours, she stared up at those pieces of tranquility. Sue Ellen then closed her tear-filled eyes and attempted to remember all the good memories she had in her almost three-decade life. Over and over again, she felt the trusting of one figure after another. Her genitals started to ache in pain, but she constrained the urge to scream in pain. She took deep breaths, and pictured herself standing with her two parents at her childhood house. She pictured the day she received her degree from college. She pictured the time her friends gave her back her diary, unread.

Finally, she stopped feeling the pressing in her vagina. She lifted her head slowly, and looked down at her groin. It was bleeding, and semen was oozing from it, but she was alive. Then she watched silently as one of the figures walked behind her head. She listened carefully, then heard something being lifted from underneath the table. As the figure returned to her range of vision, Sue Ellen felt another wave of panic rising from her gut. In the figure's hand was a chainsaw. She started struggling again. Her moment of peace had come and gone. "You had your way with me, now let me go!" she screamed. The figure pulled the starter cord. It then revved the engine several times. A loud, high pitch sound echoed through the empty room. Sue Ellen stared in horror as she watched the chainsaw rotating on the frame. "Noooo!" shrieked Sue Ellen as she wiggled around on the table. The straps were not coming loose.

The figure walked up next to her sprawled out leg. It held the active chainsaw right above her knee. The figure then turned its head towards Sue Ellen. "Remember, arrogance is the ultimate downfall," said the computerized voice. Then it pressed the trigger to move the chainsaw, and lowed the blades onto her leg. Sue Ellen instantly felt an avalanche of pain erupting from her leg. Blood and flesh flew everywhere as the figure cut through her leg. Sue Ellen screamed in excruciating pain, tears were gushing from her eyes. She felt like she was going to pass out. After severing the leg, the figure lifted the chainsaw. Sue Ellen struggled to watch as the figure then moved to her other leg, and repeated the same cut. Again, even more pain shot like a cannon from her leg. Sue Ellen felt her vision going blurry. The loss of blood was making her consciousness fade. She could feel her own blood hitting her face. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest. The sinister sound of the chainsaw drowned her ears.

After cutting through the second leg, the figure finally moved the blade up to her groin. ZZZZZZZZZZZZ! The chainsaw began to tear through her genitals and work its way up her body. Tissues, organs, and blood spewed in all directions. Sue Ellen saw her range of vision closing fast. Her last sight was the fractions of light breaking through the ceiling. Then, everything went black, and she breathed her last breath. Sue Ellen Armstrong, a victim of the most sadistic criminals in the history of Elwood City.


	5. Chapter 5: Putting Together the Clues

CHAPTER 5: Piecing Together the Clues

Fern and Buster were trying to connect all the scattered pieces of information while Alan Powers worked in the forensics lab. Alan had a great deal of work to do for this case. There were the bodily fluids from Jenna (which just came through the door), then there was the evidence from the first murder and the shooting a few hours ago. Multiple scans, chemical tests, and computer comparisons had to be done. In truth, Alan was a Renaissance man, having expertise on a variety of crime-related topics including guns, drugs, and blades. Fern and Buster utilized his knowledge frequently, and it proved to help solve many cases before, including the Lakewood County Thief and The Pyro from Downtown.

"Jenna said there were six men. Even if she was seeing doubles, that's at least three different rapists," said Buster with a mouth half-full of sunflower seeds. "I'm guessing one was sent to kill us because we were on their trail." Fern nodded in agreement. She anxiously paced back and forth while Buster, as expected, was calmly sitting in a chair. "Maria Pappas was found dead in the Elwood City Dump…yet no evidence of rape…" began Fern, "It's almost as if these Chalice Killers are getting better at what they're doing with each new victim." Buster shot a sunflower seed shell from his mouth. "True…they tried to murder Jenna in her own house and failed. But Maria Pappas two days later? They succeeded. Yet both times the victims had no evidence of rape."

Fern recalled when Maria Pappas was found a few days ago. Maria's legs and arms were fractured in multiple places, and her nose had been sawed off. Her heart was cut out by some crude method, like with a box cutter. Fern would never admit it, but it was emotionally scaring to see her old classmate in such a horrifying state. Maria Pappas was not a close friend of hers growing up, but the two went to school through senior year. Fern even shared the same classroom with Maria in the 3rd grade with Mr. Ratburn. While analyzing the details of Maria's terrible demise, it clicked. "Baxter!" said Fern. "Maria Pappas had her vagina severely burned by that metal rod we found inserted inside of her! Remember?" Buster spat out another shell. His eyes widened as the notion came to him too. "Yes! So that means any evidence of rape was nullified by the burning!" Fern leaned over towards her partner. "And Jenna has the STD! Both times the Chalice Killers failed to cover the evidence of rape!" The two detectives were silent for a few moments, happy that they had won another inch in this mile-long battle.

Buster got up and started stroking his chin. "Something's not right though, Walters," he said. "Why would Rattles, after raping his own wife, come home later as if he never did anything at all?" Fern still wasn't sure about this particular point, and it bothered her to the point of anger. "…maybe they wanted it to look like Jenna was insane? They did drug her, so maybe she wouldn't be sure if she was actually raped," suggested Fern, though she had little confidence in that answer. Buster stared at the ground in deep concentration. "Jenna said Rattles took off his mask, so Jenna knew it was him. His identity was revealed," said Buster, rubbing his temples to focus his mind. "Maybe the other five wanted him to go back home, hoping Jenna would kill him in revenge. Then the identities of the other five would remain secret." Unfortunately, when it came to the Rattles question, neither detective was certain of any possibility. However, they did feel confident that the Chalice Killers were getting better at their craft of rape and murder, even though they hadn't perfected getting rid of rape evidence.

"Guys, I found something," called Alan from his work table. The two detectives hurried over to their associate. He pointed to the computer screen, where a model of DNA was rotating. "See? I isolated the DNA found in some of the blood cells from the sores. As it turns out, Rattles was the one who gave her that STD," said Alan. "So, the DNA matched Rattle's DNA?" asked Buster. Alan nodded. "Correct, Buster. Unfortunately, I can't forensically show anything more from the blood. There was no other DNA except Rattle's and Jenna's in the sample." Fern looked at her partner. "This is the only piece of evidence we found concerning Jenna's accusation," she said. "We must have missed something."

"Now look at this," said Alan as he showed them the fingerprints from the shooter at the prison. "These are the fingerprints of a man named Tristan Burchett. Ever heard of him? I haven't." Fern and Buster thought about it for a moment. "I think he went through the Lakewood school system around the time we were there," said Buster. "Yeah," agreed Fern, "Maybe he was the year ahead of us? But I don't know anything about him, just his name." Alan began to type fast on the computer. "According to our database, there is nothing on him besides his name. No address, no spouse, no kids. Just a name." Fern leaned over Alan's shoulder. "Does that mean he has a criminal record if he's in the system?" she asked. Alan shrugged his shoulders. "Usually, but he doesn't have a record currently in the system. It's almost as though it was deleted." All three looked at the computer screen. The picture of Tristan Burchett was taken in a prison setting and it matched the face of the shooter, but there was no criminal record to go with the man. "I'll look into it," said Alan. "Oh! And there's one more thing, too."

Alan put on inspection gloves and picked up the rifle that Tristan Burchett used to shoot at the two detectives. "This gun was made by Taylor Guns, which is in Pittsburgh. Burchett didn't scrape off the item code, so I traced the code back to the purchase, which occurred at Elwood City Guns." Fern clapped her hands together in excitement. "Let's go to that gun store and see what we can find out," she said. All of a sudden, Fern's phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. "Petrofus," she muttered, looking at the screen, then answered it. The conversation only lasted for about ten seconds. "Fuck!" said Fern as she hung up the phone. "What?" asked her partner. "Petrofus said the Chalice Killers murdered another victim. They're identifying the victim now. She gave me the address. Looks like the gun shop will have to wait."

The two detectives ran out of the forensics lab and hopped into the car. As they drove off to the crime scene, both wondered what terrible sight they were about to see.


	6. Chapter 6: A Crippling Loss

CHAPTER 6: A Crippling Loss

Fern and Buster jumped out of the car. The two detectives were busy indulging in their habits – Fern, smoking; and Buster, eating snacks. They looked around. It was an eerie place. "An old, abandoned warehouse?" asked Buster, munching on a chip. Fern found it oddly cliché to have a murder take place in such a location. However, her mood was far from light. It was 11:26am, and the detectives were so tired after being up all night that they barely expressed emotion by this point. Cop cars were everywhere in front of the entrance, but they managed to weave their way through. Fern noticed there was no ambulance. A bad sign, no doubt, meaning the victim was long gone by the time they were discovered. She also noticed that the warehouse was on city land, meaning anyone willing to trespass could commit the murder here. "They were clever for picking this spot," admitted Fern to herself, although admiration would be a very large stretch.

As the detectives walked into the warehouse, Fern could smell the stench of blood and flesh. A crowd of cops and reporters were swarming the body's location. The cops tried as peacefully as possible to keep the reporters away from view, though a few managed to get shots with their cameras. Fern and Buster held up their detective badges. "Detectives! Step aside! Let's move it people!" ordered Fern. She didn't like to be so authoritative, but the job required it at times. The small sea of people opened up. "Jesus fucking Christ," said Buster. Fern dropped her cigarette. Buster dropped his chips. They ran up to the body and stared in disbelief. "Sue Ellen…FUCK!" said Fern as she knelt down and tried to hide her anger. "Everyone! Get the fuck outta here unless you're a cop! NOW!" Bellowed Buster. He wasn't putting up with extra bullshit after just losing a friend. A few reporters tried to stay behind. Buster walked up to one of them and aggressively grabbed their collar. "I said, FUCK OFF, cocksucker!" he hissed. The reporter put his hands up in surrender and ran off. With everyone but cops gone, the two detectives had more privacy.

Fern looked at the naked body of her close friend. Sue Ellen's legs were severed above the knees. She was cut completely in half from her groin up through the top of her head. Around her was a massive pool of pure blood. Pieces of bone and organ tissue were scattered everywhere. Fortunately, there were no flies since it was a cold November morning. Fern had witnessed some gruesome murder victims, but this was by far the most traumatic. She desperately tried to hold back her tears. Sue Ellen had been her friend since the 3rd grade. They went to book clubs, talked about boyfriends, and practiced martial arts. Their moms spent time together as well. In some ways, Sue Ellen was the sister Fern never had, and here was Sue Ellen – vertically cut in half with no lower appendages, brains turned to hamburger meat, and intestines spilling out like at a butchery. Fern was so exhausted, she couldn't stop the crying. She stood up and walked away from the crime scene. Buster, who was never close to Sue Ellen like Fern was, ran after his partner.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked as he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. Fern kept walking and trying to hide her face. "Yes, I'm fine, I'm just tired that's all," she muttered in between sobs. Buster wouldn't let her go. "That's horseshit and you know it, Walters," he said. "It's okay to feel terrible, we both knew her, especially you." Fern whipped around with red eyes and tears running down her face. "I need to go home, Baxter," she whimpered. "I just need a few hours alone, okay?" Buster put his hand down. "Okay," he said softly. "I'll swing by your place later this afternoon. I'll just have a cop drop me off at the police department after I take a closer look…at Sue Ellen." Fern nodded, and walked out of the warehouse. She didn't care that some of the cops stared at her. A normally serious and reserved person can still break-down can't they? She got into the car and drove back to her apartment, where she knew she could have a small measure of peace.


	7. Chapter 7: Morale in Many Forms

CHAPTER 7: Morale in Many Forms

Fern unlocked the door and walked into her apartment. She flipped on the lights, and threw her coat on the kitchen counter. Stacks of books were everywhere throughout the living space. Fern had always been a book worm, although as she moved up in ranks at the police force, her reading because less and less frequent. She found that phenomenon to be rather disappointing, because she preferred reading over just about anything. Even emotionally-stirring events like romantic dates and sex didn't offer the same benefits as a good book did. Fern pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey and a glass. She set those two valuable items on the kitchen table, then pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes from a nearby carton. If whiskey and cigarettes don't work, then reading a book would be the final defense before insanity struck.

Fern lite a cigarette and poured several shots-worth of liquor. As the whiskey burned going down her throat, she pondered everything that had happened so far on the case. By this point, she had stopped crying, though on the inside, she felt dead. Three of her classmates since elementary school had been gruesomely affected by the Chalice Killers. Jenna Morgan was raped by her own husband and his gang, and in a state of revenge and madness, murdered him. She would spend the rest of her life in prison. Maria Pappas was brutally murdered and most likely gang raped. Sue Ellen was also brutally murdered. Whether she was gang raped was yet to be determined. Fern took a drag and another swig of the numbing potion. Who was next? She could feel the immense pressure of stopping these atrocities, and the pressure only continued to rise with each new victim. She thought about quitting, and becoming a writer, which was always her dream as a child. No, that would not take away the pain. Nothing would take away the pain of losing three friends. Fern felt a lob in her throat forming once again.

"Don't cry, Fern," she told herself as she downed another glass. Who was she kidding, the tears were returning. For over an hour, she sat at that kitchen table and cried silently. In many ways, she had lost the war. The Chalice Killers had won, they already claimed three innocent lives. Fern stared off into space and felt the despair weighing like a block of lead on her heart. She was never really sure if God even existed, but if he did, he had abandoned her on this trip through hell. "It's just me on this one," she thought. More cigarettes, more whiskey. Another hour passed, and by this point she knew she was way too drunk to drive. Fern didn't care though. Baxter would pick her up and she could manage. It wasn't the first time she used alcohol to dull the pain.

"Maybe I made a mistake joining the detective force…maybe I should have…" she looked at her coat pocket. Inside of it, she knew, was her revolver. It would be so easy to just point, pull, and that was that. As far as Fern was concerned, she would either end up in hell or nowhere. Heaven wasn't an option for a workaholic who abandoned her family and husband to solve more cases. Besides, it's hard to scare someone with death when they barely lived. Fern was aware she was mostly dead. She was antisocial, besides interactions at work. When she wasn't smoking, she was drinking. She didn't even bother to see family during the holidays. Fern struggled to pour the next glass. When she did, she looked back over at the coat pocket. In a state of dulled judgement, she walked over to the coat and pulled out the revolver. She sat down at the table and felt its cold, hard metal body. "Lifeless…just like me," she muttered as tears rolled down her face. Fern pulled down the hammer and lifted the gun up to the side of her head. "I have failed…and now I will get what Maria and Sue Ellen didn't deserve…"

KNOCK KNOCK.

Fern quickly put the gun down. "It's open," she said. Baxter walked into the room. He looked at the table. Over twenty cigarette buds lay in the ashtray. The bottle of whiskey was almost gone. He then looked at his partner, who had a loaded gun in her hand and whose eyes had no light in them. Buster sat down next to Fern. Usually, he'd make a wisecrack and throw out a grin. Not now. It wouldn't help.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked softly. Fern barely shook her head. "Couldn't sleep…" she replied, not making eye contact. Buster put his hand on Fern's. "Fern, it's okay to feel terrible…I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you." Fern looked up at her partner. Buster never called her "Fern", and he never said anything so compassionate. She threw her arms around him and buried her head into his chest.

"Buster, I can't do it. I can't do it," she said as she started crying hard again. Buster put his arms around her and put his head onto hers. "Yes, you can. You're one of the strongest people I know. We've gone through so many cases, and each time, you've persevered and conquered the obstacles," he said. Fern continued to cry. She squeezed him closer to her. "It's just…three of my friends, our friends, have been destroyed by… _them_ ," Fern said, "Maria and Sue Ellen died for nothing. Nothing!" Buster gently stroked Fern's hair and held her hand. "You're right. The Chalice Killers have slaughtered people we care about. But that doesn't mean they win, Fern. We will stop them. And they will feel the wrath of justice. I know it." Fern's sobs became quieter. She knew Buster's optimism was the only drug she really needed right now.

"Buster…the gun, it's not what it looks -"

"You don't have to explain…it's okay, Fern. It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything personal, but I know you deal with a lot. I'm your partner, and I can see it in you. You've dealt with more bullshit than most people."

"I've failed. At this case and at life. I don't deserve to live…"

"We are all dealt a hand, Fern. And we gotta play that hand the best we can. We can't always win, but that doesn't mean we have to go down with our tails between our legs. You got something to live for, Fern."

"What do I have to live for? More victims being killed?"

"No. I need you in my life. Every citizen in Elwood City needs you. We all need you, Fern, because you are a defender of the innocent and a punisher of the wicked. Besides, who else could I bum a smoke off of?"

Fern chuckled at her partner's endless humor. She kissed his cheek. "You're the best partner, Buster," she said. Buster kissed her forehead. "We're in this together. I'm not gonna leave you hanging because you are human and feel pain like everybody else." Fern sat back in her own chair. She wiped her eyes with her hand and looked at the almost-empty bottle of whiskey. "There's no way in hell I can drive right now," she said with a quiet laugh. Buster eyed the bottle. "Well, there is another shot or two in there," he said, and slugged down the rest. Fern smiled. She was so thankful Buster was her partner. Sure, he could be too laid back and crack jokes at inconvenient times, but he had character. There was probably no one more loyal and empathetic than him on the whole police force. He lacked the leadership qualities of Petrofus, but he was the kind of person anybody would want in the trenches with them when bullets started flying. Buster stood up and looked at his partner. "C'mon, partner, let's go solve this case and put those motherfuckers to justice." Fern stood up too, and took a deep breath. "Let's do it," she replied.

The two detectives walked out of the apartment. As they headed towards the car, Fern tried to energize herself. She knew Buster and herself were exhausted, but sleep would have to wait. "Did the crime scene have any clues?" she asked as she got into the vehicle. Buster started the car. "Yes, the Chalice Killers made a few mistakes in their atrocity. I'll explain it to you as we head to the gun shop."

The car drove off. It was 3:14pm, and there was still overcast. More rain clouds appeared on the horizon. The case was far from over, but every clue they found was one step closer to ending the Chalice Killer's reign of terror over Elwood City.


	8. Chapter 8: A Difficult Confrontation

CHAPTER 8: A Difficult Confrontation

Rain began to fall as the detective car drove along the highway. Buster was busy munching on a candy bar (he always had a supply of snacks on hand). Fern watched as cars and buildings came and went from view. The radio was playing some oldies music to Buster's approval, but it was almost too quiet to be heard. Finally, after finishing his food, Buster cleared his throat.

"I found traces of semen inside the body," he said bluntly. "So, she was raped," replied Fern, still gazing out the window. "Too bad there's no database for semen," commented Buster. Fern wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a joke or not, so she remained silent.

"There was something else too, Walters," said Buster, noticing that Fern was still in a depressed state. Fern finally turned to look at the road in front of the car. The windshield wipers were on by this point with the batting rain. "What else?" asked Fern. "There was a fragment of a chainsaw, and Powers is getting a trace on it."

Fern felt her stomach tighten in disgust. Murdered by a chainsaw? It was beyond cruel. It was pure evil. She tightened her fist in anger, but refrained from expounding upon the burst of emotion. "I'm so sorry, Sue Ellen," thought Fern, "I will avenge you, I promise."

Fern's phone started going off. It was Alan Powers.

"What did you find, Powers?"

"The pubic hair from Maria's labia has a match. It belongs to Tristan Burchett."

"Alright, so she was raped. Just like Jenna and Sue Ellen."

"Yes, Baxter told me he found semen at the crime scene today."

Fern wanted to ask Alan how he was handling Sue Ellen's demise because Alan was a friend of hers too, but she decided not to go down that route. They had to remain focused.

"Any luck on the chainsaw fragment?"

"Not yet, although it's going to be difficult to match a fragment to a purchase. Chainsaws really don't differentiate from one another."

"Do what you can. We're on our way to the local gun shop."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

Fern hung up the phone. "What's the deal?" asked Buster. "Maria was raped by Tristan Burchett. Power's still working on the chainsaw fragment." Buster shrugged his shoulder. "Well, they target women and rape them, there's a pattern," observed the male detective. "And they call themselves the Chalice Killers, assuming Jenna's story is accurate," added Fern. "What do they mean by "chalice"?" asked Buster. Fern traced her memory bank for anything referring to chalices. "They obviously hold some kind of bigoted ideology, one that dominates women," began Fern, "I believe "chalice" refers to some pagan traditions, where the chalice is a symbol for womanhood, like the shape of the uterus." Buster's face conveyed deep consideration for Fern's theory. "An extreme misogynistic group…" he said, "It makes sense with what we've seen so far. Unfortunately, this only adds partial context to their motivation." Fern nodded in agreement. "True. Let's put this hypothesis on the backburner for now. I don't want to exclude males as victims just yet."

Fern had something else to inquire of Buster, but she was afraid to ask the question. It would mean things would get more personal than they already were. After a minute of contemplation, she decided she should say something.

"Have you had any contact with the victims' family?"

Buster shook his head. "No, I leave that to Petrofus. She is far more stoic than I am. I could never face that kind of agony." Fern thought about Petrofus telling the Morgan's, Pappas', and Armstrong's about their daughters. She shivered at the notion because Petrofus was such a no-bullshit kind of person. Fern felt like she should at least talk to the Armstrong's, seeing as she was good friends with them, but she knew it would be heartbreaking. However, it would also probably mean a lot to them if she personally went to see them in their dire state.

The detective car pulled up in front of the gun shop. Fern took note of her surroundings as they walked into the store. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but she figured there would be no shooters this time. The man behind the counter eyed the two detectives. Fern didn't like the suspicious look he was giving her and her partner, but many people feel uncomfortable when law enforcement shows up at their business.

"Can I help you two?" asked the man as he put a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth. Fern and Buster walked up to the counter and pulled out their detective badges. "Detectives Walters and Baxter, Elwood City Police Force," said Fern. She had done this more than once in her career. "We're here to ask about a purchase that was made at this shop," said Buster. The man spat into a nearby soda bottle. "I don't do business with criminals," he said with a rough tone. Fern had also experienced this before – interrogations that started off sour. She pulled out a slip of paper and put it on the counter. "Here's the item code from a rifle we found from a suspect," she said. "Our associate said it was traced back to this shop. Can you tell us who made the purchase?" The man looked at the item code, then punched it into the computer. "Tristan Burchett," he muttered. "When was the purchase?" pressed Buster. "About three months ago," answered the man, as if he was trying to say as little as possible.

"Please excuse us for a moment." Fern pulled Buster away from the counter. "This just reconfirms Burchett being part of the Chalice Killers," Fern whispered to her partner. "And him trying to kill us off because we were on the lead," added Buster. Fern nodded. "But we need to know more about Burchett," she said. Then the detectives returned to the counter.

The man had an impatient look on his face. "Anything else you want?" he asked, then spat into the bottle. "Yes, what do you know about Tristan Burchett? Do you know him personally?" asked Fern as she lite a cigarette. The man didn't allow smoking in his store, but he knew not to mess with a determined detective. "I've seen him around, but wasn't friends with him or anything," replied the man. "Did Burchett tell you why he bought the rifle?" inquired Buster, not satisfied with the man's bland reply. "Never said," was the man's reply. Fern was feeling the same way as her partner. The man was trying to be as difficult as possible, and they needed more information.

"Did you know he had a criminal record when you sold him the gun?" asked Fern. She wasn't certain Burchett had a criminal record, but if Powers was correct, then Burchett was incarcerated at one point. The man's face turned slightly white. "I had no idea. I checked his ID, he had a gun license and everything." Fern had a hunch. "Gun license? So, the gun license looked legitimate?" She knew if Burchett was in prison, then the state would never grant him a gun license afterwards. The only conclusion was that the gun license was fake. "Yeah, I mean, I'm not an expert, but the license looked real to me," replied the man as he scratched the back of his head. Fern could tell by the man's countenance that he was telling the truth. Either that, or he was highly trained in lying techniques. Judging by the conversation so far, Fern suspected the former was far more likely. The man was difficult to interrogate, but he never gave Fern any red flags of suspicious criminal activity.

Fern took a drag of her cigarette. She then picked up the paper with the item code on it, and put it in her pocket. "Thank you for your time, sir," she said to the man. The man grunted, and spat into the bottle. The two detectives started out of the shop. Buster looked over his shoulder. "Oh, by the way, what's a better gun: a GLOCK or a revolver?" The man gave a confused look. "A GLOCK, but what does that have to do with anything?" he replied with squinted eyes. "Just wondering" replied Buster. He then turned to Fern with a grin. "Told you," he said with a chuckle. Fern threw her cigarette bud down a nearby storm drain. "I still got the better shot," she retorted.

The two detectives got into the car. 4:39pm. Both investigators were running on adrenaline now. They had been up for more than 30 hours straight. Buster reached into the backseat and pulled out some sodas. "Caffeine?" he asked as he handed a can to his partner. Fern cracked it open and took a big sip. "Let's agree to get some shut eye tonight," she said. "Agreed," replied Buster. Just then, Fern's cell phone went off. It was the Elwood City General Hospital.

"This is Detective Fern Walters."

"Detective, this is Nurse Natalie Jacobs from Elwood City General Hospital. Tristan Burchett is out of surgery. He's in some pain, but he will be fine. He is ready for interrogation. Come whenever you get the chance."

"We're on our way. Thank you."

Fern hung up the phone and turned to her partner. "Now let's see about Burchett and his antics," she said, then took a swig of the soda.


	9. Chapter 9: Another Inch in the Race

CHAPTER 9: Another Inch in the Race

The sugar and caffeine from the soda had given the two detectives' a slight boost. Sleep was coming in a few hours, but for the meantime, they had to get more work done. The rain became less intense as the car pulled up to the Elwood City General Hospital. Dark clouds cast a hazy shadow over the parking lot. Buster and Fern walked into the hospital and approached the admissions counter. An administrator was busy typing on the computer. Fern pulled out her detective badge.

"Can you tell us where Tristan Burchett is being treated?"

The administrator quickly glanced at her screen. "Fourth floor, room 21," she replied. "Thank you." The two detectives then walked into the elevator and waited to be carried to their destination. Buster watched the red light shift from one floor to the next as they ascended. "Maybe I should do the talking, considering that you shot him and he might not be too thrilled about that," suggested the male detective. Fern shrugged her shoulders then let out a sigh. "I suppose you're right," she reluctantly admitted. The elevator reached the fourth floor and the doors opened. The two detectives quickly made their way to room 21. Once they got to the closed door, Fern took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this," she thought to herself, and opened the door.

Tristan Burchett was laying on the hospital bed watching a basketball game. He had tubes and sensors on his exposed chest and arms. A massive bandage was covering where Fern's bullet made contact with his body. He immediately stared down the two detectives as they took seats next to him. He turned off the television and had a nasty look on his face.

"Here's the two famous detectives, Walters and Baxter," he said full of mockery and spite. Fern kept a straight face, even though she wanted to punch him for starting off the interrogation on the wrong foot. Besides, he must have done research on them, if he knew their names. Buster pulled out his detective badge to validate his identity. Fern followed suit. "Tristan Burchett, we are here to ask you a few questions," said Buster with an authoritative tone. Burchett laughed. "What could you possibly learn from me? I'm just a victim of a trigger-happy bitch," he retorted as he eyed Fern. Fern felt her blood pressure rising in anger. Buster ignored the insult. "Mr. Burchett, you can be charged with attempted murder. Attempted murder on law enforcement. That's an extremely serious crime," said Buster. Burchett scowled and pushed a button to bring the top half of the bed to an upright position. He turned to Buster.

"I shot at you. So, what? Maybe I'm just crazy," said Burchett with a sinister smile. Fern could tell Burchett was trying to play mind games with her and her partner, but she trusted Buster could handle the heat. To Fern's surprise, Buster let out a chuckle. "We found your DNA on Maria Pappas' body. We also suspect you have a previous criminal record and used a fake gun license to purchase a rifle. Trust me, you're not in a spot to play innocent, my friend," replied Buster coolly. Burchett didn't say anything, which told Fern that Buster had humbled the aggressive patient. Buster's face then went serious. "Mr. Burchett, the reality is we have enough evidence to lock your ass up in prison for the rest of your life. If you want to be difficult, fine by me, but that's not going to help you one bit." Burchett's face conveyed careful consideration of Buster's words.

"If I'm going to prison for the rest of my life, then what difference does it make if I talk to you or not? I'm screwed either way," said Burchett. Fern noticed his eyes showed no light in them, as if his own soul was saturated with darkness. Buster remained steady, but firm. "If you cooperate, then maybe your prison sentence can be lessened. You're going to prison either way, but the damage can be smaller with your help," replied Buster. Once again, Burchett looked like he was contemplating Buster's statement.

"Detective, no matter what I tell you, it's not going to stop them," said Burchett. This time, he did not give any signs of pleasure in his words. "Who's 'them', Mr. Burchett?" asked Buster. He knew the answer, but wanted to hear Burchett say the words. Burchett then smiled yet again, to Fern's disliking. "You don't even know who I'm talking about? You're not as smart as you think you are, Detective," replied Burchett. Buster ignored the personal attack. "Who said I didn't know? What I know doesn't matter, Mr. Burchett. What matters is what you know."

"You can't stop them. They will keep coming and coming, more and more people will die, Detective, just you wait," threatened Burchett with anger in his voice. He appeared to be rather confident in his words. Fern sat quietly and let his partner continue the questioning, even though she knew she had a loaded gun that would speed things up. "Fascinating…you defend a group that sent you on a suicide mission to take us out. They don't seem to give a flying fuck about you," replied Buster, trying to get under Burchett's skin. "You could help us bring down the group that left you for dead," Buster added. Fern was impressed with her partner's approach. Buster looked like he succeeded in bothering Burchett, because Burchett's face went red.

"You arrogant, son of a bitch," hissed Burchett with a clenched fist. "They chose me because I was the best of them. It was an honor to fulfill my duty." Buster let out an artificial laugh to irritate Burchett. "You had clear shots at my partner and I and failed miserably. They used you, Mr. Burchett. They wanted you out and made an excuse that you bought like a naïve little minion. Help us, because those bastards are not worthy of your respect, Mr. Burchett." Buster's attempt at psychological manipulation were out of character for him, but the tactic was effective. Burchett broke eye contact with the detectives.

"Even if that's true, I have no regrets being the hands and feet of the Chalice Killers," he admitted in a quiet voice. Fern and Buster felt relieved. They got Burchett to say the name of the criminal group, further validating Jenna's testimony of gang rape. "The Chalice Killers took advantage of you, Mr. Burchett. Forget morality. Just out of revenge you should help us. They deserve the same fate you do," said Buster, still looking at Burchett. Burchett stared off into space, his face still red. He then turned his eyes down towards his bandaged chest. Fern assumed he was remembering the pain of being shot, and how his associates deserved similar punishment.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Detective," said Burchett after a moment of silence. Fern and Buster tried to hide their frustration. Burchett's loyalty was giving them headaches. "Why not, Mr. Burchett?" responded Buster. "Because I don't know the identities of the Chalice Killers…" replied Burchett. He remade eye contact with Buster. Buster felt his mouth drop slightly in disbelief. "You don't know their identities? But you worked for, or with, them, right?" asked Buster. Burchett shook his head. "Every time I saw them, they wore their masks. I was a part of their group, but none of us ever took our masks off. I don't think any of us know each other's identities," said Burchett. Fern wasn't sure if Burchett was lying or being sincere. If he was telling the truth, that meant they possibly reached another dead end. Without faces and DNA, it would be much harder to solve the case of the Chalice Killers.

"Mr. Burchett, why are the Chalice Killers murdering people? What's their motivation?" asked Buster. Both detectives at least needed this information to better help understand their adversaries. Burchett's eyes turned steel cold. "They are trying to destroy Elwood City, one perpetrator at a time," replied Burchett. Buster leaned back in his chair as he absorbed the man's words. Fern decided she needed to say something. She couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Mr. Burchett, why do you call the victims 'perpetrators'? None of the victims have ever committed crimes, at least to our knowledge," said Fern. Buster, knowing his partner too well, decided not to take back control of the questioning. Burchett chuckled. "You don't understand the imbalance of power in our society," he retorted with animosity in his voice. Fern ignored his clear anger towards her. "Please help us understand this imbalance, and what the victims are perpetrators of," replied Fern. Burchett's eyes narrowed. His face conveyed a growing frustration. Buster noticed this, and gave Fern a look of backing off and letting him do the talking. Burchett didn't say anything, forcing Buster to continue the questioning.

"Mr. Burchett, what are the Chalice Killers trying to accomplish? Like I said earlier, if you help us, it would lessen your sentence big time," stated Buster as he pulled out a small pack of peanuts. Burchett seemed much more willing to talk to Buster than Fern. "They want to destroy the cancer that has plagued this city," began Burchett, "and they will succeed. You cannot stop them. They are too smart to get caught." Buster carefully eyed Burchett. Fern calculated in her mind what Burchett's enigmatic statements could mean. "We caught you. So, either the Chalice Killers are beatable or they just sent you on a suicide mission to get rid of you. Or both," said Buster. He wasn't going to get pushed around by Burchett, not at this point in the case. Burchett turned his eyes away from the detectives.

"They sent me to kill you because I showed compassion to Maria Pappas when we captured her," said Burchett after a moment of silence. Fern and Buster knew that meant the Chalice Killers demanded complete compliance to their ideology, like an extremist group or cult. "How did you show compassion?" asked Buster. "I told the others that rape was enough. I didn't want her to die on top of that," said Burchett with a sigh. Fern could tell Burchett was conflicted between protecting his group or saving his own ass from more prison time.

"How did the Chalice Killers respond to your compassion?" asked Buster. "They told me to kill you two because they figured out what detectives were on our lead. They said to attack you at the state penitentiary, where our first victim was being held for murdering Rattles," said Burchett. Fern was now certain that Jenna's story was legitimate.

"So, you know Rattles' identity but not the others?" Buster said as he popped a few peanuts into his mouth. Burchett remade eye contact with his interrogator. "Rattles wanted Jenna Morgan to know who he was as he raped her. The Balancer was hesitant, but let Rattles reveal his identity to Morgan anyways. Once our operation was intruded by a knock at the door, the Balancer knew Rattles had to die to keep us secret," said Burchett. His eyes remained cold.

"So, they forced Rattles to return home and act like nothing had happened?" asked Buster. Fern knew Burchett's answer was critical. "Yes, the Balancer figured if Rattles acted like nothing happened and there was no evidence, everyone would assume Morgan was going crazy and wouldn't believe her story," replied Burchett.

"Did the Balancer assume Jenna would murder Rattles?" inquired Buster. Burchett shook his head. "No, we were going to send in another member to kill him, and then frame Morgan. Once we found out Morgan already killed Rattles, we didn't need to do anything," said Burchett. Buster continued to munch on his peanut snack. Fern was relieved that they learned the context behind Jenna's story. It was all making more sense now.

"Who is the Balancer? Is he the leader of the Chalice Killers?" asked Buster. "Yes, he recruited all of us to join the group," replied Burchett. "How did he recruit you?" said Buster. "He knew I had a criminal record, and approached me with his mask on. He said he could help me get revenge on the city that ruined my life with a prison sentence," replied Burchett, "I was indoctrinated for weeks into his philosophy and methods. He also paid me ten-grand to join."

"The Balancer has money then," thought Fern, "And access to the criminal records archive to know Burchett had a criminal background." Buster finished his snack and slipped the wrapper into his jacket pocket. "Anything else you can tell us, Mr. Burchett?" he asked. "That's all I know, Detective. If you want to stop the Chalice Killers, then stop the Balancer," replied Burchett.

"One more question if you don't mind," said Buster, "is the Balancer's philosophy a misogynistic one that wants to destroy all the women of Elwood City?" Burchett nodded. "He wants women back in their place," said the man. "Okay, thank you for your time, Mr. Burchett. We will make sure your prison sentence is lessened for you helping us," replied Buster as the two detectives stood up.

The partners walked out of the room and headed for the elevator. "Burchett must have been low on the totem pole if that's all he could tell us," stated Buster. Fern nodded in agreement. "The Balancer had access to the criminal archives and knew Burchett had a criminal record. Either he's an excellent hacker or he works in the legal system somewhere," replied Fern, "Not to mention, he has money if he could cough up ten-grand to pay his members to join."

Once the detectives got into the car, Buster's phone rang. It was Petrofus. Buster conversed with her for a minute or so, then hung up. He turned to his partner. "Petrofus said we get the night off. She said we need sleep," said Buster. Fern let out a yawn. "Thank goodness. We can start fresh in the morning." It was 7:01pm.


	10. Chapter 10: A Necessary Conversation

CHAPTER 10: A Necessary Conversation

Buster dropped Fern off at her apartment. The two detectives agreed to meet at the police station tomorrow morning at 9am. That would give them enough time to sleep and recuperate. Fern walked into her apartment and looked at the kitchen table. There, just a few hours ago, she had a loaded gun pointed at her own head. The thought made her feel guilty. Fern had battled depression her whole life, but had irregular medical treatment for it. Since her drinking habit started, she stopped taking antidepressants. Alcohol was cheaper, and it had a more immediate effect.

Fern went into the bathroom and took her clothes off. A shower would make her feel better. She was terribly exhausted, but feeling clean would help her sleep. As she stood under the stream of hot water, she thought about what her and Baxter would do next. The best chance at moving forward was the chainsaw fragment. Still, it was highly suspicious that Burchett had his criminal record erased and the Balancer knew Burchett was previously indoctrinated. Who could the mole in the police force be? Maybe there was no mole, and the Balancer was an experienced hacker who got into the system. Either way, there would be more messes to clean up.

7:40pm. Fern dried herself off with a towel and went into her bedroom. Books, as expected, were piled up around the queen-size bed. She changed into some boy shorts and put on a sports bra. She wasn't a fan of traditional pajamas. Besides, if an urgent call came late in the night, she could easily slip on more clothes over her current attire. Fern laid on the bed and closed her eyes. It felt divine to just relax. She turned on the TV that faced the bed. Most nights she fell asleep with the TV on. Her parents, who were baby-boomers, had done the same thing when she was growing up. Instead of watching the local news, she decided to turn on a celebrity gossip channel. "This shit is so boring I'll fall asleep in two minutes," she thought to herself. Fern's prediction was correct, because soon enough she fell into a deep sleep.

Fern suddenly woke up in a violent fashion. She grabbed her phone on the bed-stand and eyed the screen: 3:25am. "Fuck," she muttered. Sweat had soaked through her minimal clothing and onto the bed sheets. It was a nightmare, but it felt so real. She shook her head in frustration. Bad dreams had become more and more normal the longer she worked as a detective. When dealing with grisly homicides, rapes, and muggings 24/7, there was little room for dreams about puppies and rainbows. Now wide awake, Fern decided she might as well get up.

She walked into the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee. Once made, she poured several shots of whiskey into the beverage. She sat on the couch in the living room and sipped on her drink. It was pitch black outside, and raining softly. Fern glanced at her thermometer that was connected to the outside: 38 degrees. Once she finished her coffee, she grabbed a pack and lite up a smoke. She sat on the couch and pondered about what to do with Sue Ellen's parents. They were guaranteed shocked and heartbroken. Maybe they would blame Fern for not catching the culprits fast enough? The thought forced her to take a long drag of cigarette. No, the Armstrong's wouldn't blame Fern. They would want her to avenge their daughter by catching the killers. Fern sat on the couch for several hours, half asleep and half in a daze. She refrained from opening a fresh bottle of booze, and decided beer would be a much safer option for the time being. She opened her fridge, which was stuffed full of wine and beer and very little food. She grabbed a six pack of pilsner, and went back to the couch. One beer, two beers, three beers. Once the six-pack was gone and she had blazed through two-thirds of her pack of cigarettes, she looked at her phone: 6:09am. It was now or never. She had to talk to Sue Ellen's parents. In person. It would be terribly difficult, but as a close friend, it was necessary.

Fern got dressed, went to her car, and drove to the Armstrong's residence. She knew it was early, but the Armstrong's, at least to her memory, had always been early risers like their daughter. By the time Fern pulled up to the curb in front of the house, she could feel her stomach tightening and her heart racing. She threw a breath mint into her mouth to hide the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, although forgetting that her clothes probably wreaked of the stuff. She walked up to the front door and looked at her phone: 6:30am. She had two and a half hours before she had to meet Baxter at the police station to continue the investigation. Fern took a deep breath to collect herself, and then rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Armstrong came to the door. As Fern expected, the woman was not dressed yet, still being in a nightgown and robe. Mrs. Armstrong let out a weak smile as she saw Fern. "Mrs. Armstrong? I'm sorry it's so early. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing," said Fern softly. Mrs. Armstrong opened the door wider to let her guest in. "Fern, so good to see you. Come on in, I just made some coffee," said Mrs. Armstrong as Fern walked into the house.

Mrs. Armstrong led Fern into the living room. There were exotic pieces from every continent all over the room. Mr. Armstrong was a diplomat, so he and his family had lived in a plethora of countries over the years. Mrs. Armstrong gently placed her hand on Fern's shoulder. "Please, make yourself comfortable, I'll go grab us some coffee. Mr. Armstrong should be downstairs in a minute," she said. A minute later, Fern had a mug of hot coffee in her hands and was carefully observing her host. Mrs. Armstrong had bags under her eyes and her hand shook slightly as she held her own cup. Obvious signs of a sleepless night. Fern wasn't surprised one bit. It had been less than 24 hours since Sue Ellen was found in the warehouse, and it would probably lead to many sleepless nights in the future unfortunately.

Mr. Armstrong walked into the living room and sat down with an arm around his wife. "Happy to see you, Fern," said Mr. Armstrong. Fern gave a fake smile, and tried to appear as calm as possible. On the inside, she was screaming in sadness and frustration. The three sat there, sipping their coffee in silence. Fern cleared her throat and knew she had to get the ball rolling.

"Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, I'm so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine how you are feeling right now," said Fern. Her heart badly ached for her friend's parents. Mrs. Armstrong let out a sudden sob, then quickly sipped her coffee to hid it. Mr. Armstrong massaged his wife's shoulder. "We're very thankful for your condolences, Fern," said Mr. Armstrong. He looked like he wanted to cry, but managed to contain himself. "Just know that I'm here for you. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know," said Fern. She could feel a lump forming in her throat. Mrs. Armstrong began to cry softly. "Oh Fern! You've always been such a great friend to Sue Ellen and to us," whispered Mrs. Armstrong with tears coming down her face. "Thank you, Fern," added Mr. Armstrong.

Fern looked down at her black coffee. The Armstrong's were being so gracious to her, and they just found out their own daughter was brutally murdered. They were too kind, too noble. It was almost unbearable. Fern looked back up at her hospitable hosts. "I am working on catching them. I will find them, and justice will be served," said Fern. She could feel her grip tighten on the coffee mug. Mr. Armstrong had watery eyes by this point. "We know you will find them, Fern. You've always been so smart, Sue Ellen always talked about how gifted you were," he said. Mr. Armstrong's statement was like a knife in Fern's gut. Sue Ellen was already being addressed in the past tense. She was gone. Dead. And there was nothing that could be done to reverse it.

"I…I can tell you anything you want to know about what happened to Sue Ellen," began Fern. She was hesitant to go in this direction, but transparency was better than questions that wouldn't receive answers. The Armstrong's deserved to know the whole truth, not just the basics Petrofus probably enlightened them on.

Mr. Armstrong's face went stern. Fern could see the burning anger in his eyes. "Please, tell us," he said. "Yes, we need to know. Sue Ellen would want us to know," added Mrs. Armstrong quietly. Fern put her coffee mug down on the table. "I can be as forthright as you want me to be," stated Fern. The Armstrong's both nodded, telling Fern that she could be 100% honest. She clenched her hands together, and tried to act like she was completely stable. She was a detective right now, not a friend mourning a loss.

"We found traces of semen in Sue Ellen. She was raped, presumably multiple times before her death," said Fern. The Armstrong's eyes widened, and Mrs. Armstrong began crying even harder. Mr. Armstrong desperately tried to hold back his oncoming tears. "Why do you say multiple times?" Asked Mr. Armstrong. "Because Sue Ellen is a victim of a group called the Chalice Killers. They gang-raped two victims before they got to Sue Ellen. It's safe to assume they continued their pattern on the third time," replied Fern. She could do this. Just act like a detective and ignore the emotional baggage. Mrs. Armstrong buried her face into her husband's shoulder. Mr. Armstrong let the tears slowly flow down his cheeks. "Why would those bastards do this to Sue Ellen? She never did anything wrong!" he said with a hint of pure hatred. Fern broke eye contact with her friends and looked at her clenched hands. "Our investigation is showing that the Chalice Killers are some kind of misogynistic hate group who targets women. Why they targeted Sue Ellen, I don't know, but we will find that out when we catch them," replied Fern.

"How did they kill her?" Asked Mr. Armstrong with firmness in his voice. Fern didn't respond right away. She knew the answer would be like another punch at the already defeated parents. "Fern, how did they kill her?" Mr. Armstrong asked again. Fern tried to hold back a sob as the lump in her throat grew immensely. "They cut off her legs, then cut her in half vertically, with a chainsaw," she finally said. Reminding herself of such a horrific fact was too much. Fern began crying and placed her head in her hands. Seeing Sue Ellen in that state of mutilation was the sickest thing Fern had ever seen. She heard Mr. Armstrong sobbing as he placed his head on his wife's. The three of them cried together in silence for a few moments.

"I'm so sorry…Sue Ellen didn't deserve this, you two didn't deserve this. It's fucked up and it makes me so goddamn anger that those bastards did this to her!" said Fern with sobs weaved into her words, "and they will be caught. I promise you that. Those motherfuckers will burn in hell for what they did to her!" Fern then got up and walked over to Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. She wrapped her arms around them and held them tight. "We are so thankful for you, Fern. Sue Ellen was too. We love you," whispered Mrs. Armstrong. Fern felt the warmth of her two friends pressed against her cold body. She had almost forgotten what true companionship felt like. "I love you too," said Fern, "I can't replace Sue Ellen, but I will be right here beside you, no matter what."


	11. Chapter 11: A Profound Proposition

CHAPTER 11: A Profound Proposition

Fern walked into the police station moments before the clock struck 9am. To her own surprise, she felt a little better now that she talked to the Armstrong's. Fern knew it would be a lie to say everything was okay, but things were at least better than they were before. That much could be appreciated.

Buster was sitting at his desk, which was next to Fern's. Several cops were in the room, but no one paid special attention to Fern as she walked up to her partner. Buster looked up at his female associate. "You went and saw them, didn't you?" he asked with a candy bar in his hand. Fern nodded. "They will be alright, they're just trying to make sense of it all," she replied. Buster took a bite of his snack. "Well, once Petrofus gets here, we can debrief with her and then get moving."

Fern turned to Officer Dominic Cabrera, who was busy filling out some paperwork at his desk. "Dom, how much longer will Burchett be in the hospital?" Dom looked up and shrugged his shoulders. "Another day or two, but I'm not positive. We'll make sure he doesn't leave our sight though," he said. "I want him escorted to our jail cell once he's healthy enough. We're probably gonna need him for more information," stated Fern. Dom nodded. "You got it, Walters."

Fern turned back to Buster. "Petrofus isn't here yet? She's never late," Fern said. Buster looked at his watch. "9:01. Usually she's here by 8," he replied with a hint of concern. The two detectives got up and walked to the back of the room, where Petrofus' office was. Fern put her hand up to the door knob. It was locked, and the office lights were off. "She never called you to say she'd be late?" asked Fern. Buster shook his head. "Nope, haven't heard from her." Fern felt a sharp pain like a dagger in her gut. No, it couldn't be. Did the Chalice Killers get to Petrofus? It seemed unlikely, but if Burchett failed to kill the two detectives, maybe targeting the DCI was the best option? Fern picked up her phone and called her boss. She held her breath and hoped Petrofus would answer.

"Walters, I was just about to call you. Get down to 3rd and Oak. We got more action."

"Did some of our guys already call you?"  
"Yeah, I was on my way to the station and they let me know. Apparently, they forgot to call you. Stupid bastards."

"Alright, Baxter and I are on our way."

Fern hung up the phone. "3rd and Oak. Another victim," she said. Buster half choked on his candy bar. "Another one already? Jesus Christ, they are really trying to make a fast statement!" The two detectives rushed to their work car and sped off towards the targeted destination.

The car pulled up to the curb, where several police cars and an ambulance was already parked. Fern and Buster got out and headed inside the house. Thankfully, being private property, no reporters could enter the crime scene. Fern opened the door and stared at the horrific sight. Right in the living room, was Prunella Deegan. She was completely naked, and was impaled in her rectum and up through her mouth with a solid wood spike. Petrofus noticed her two detectives, and turned to them. "Looks like she was attacked late last night," said Petrofus. Fern continued to stare in disbelief. The absolute brutality of the Chalice Killers was unimaginable. Impalement? It was like out of a horror story from the Middle Ages.

"Any traces of semen?" asked Buster. "Yes, we found a little. No pubic hair, and no blood but the victim's," replied Petrofus. She turned to Fern. "Walters, you okay? You look rather off." Fern blinked and nodded her head. "Sorry, DCI. I'm fine, just need some coffee." Petrofus didn't flinch. "We are still looking for any evidence that might be helpful." Fern shook out her daze and turned to the victim. "Any fingerprints? Maybe on the spike?" she suggested. "Nothing. These guys know what they're doing now. No hair, no fingerprints," said the DCI. "Well they must have left some kind of skin or something as they raped her," asserted Buster. Petrofus sighed in frustration. "I've checked for that too. Haven't found anything."

Fern walked up to Prunella's body. She had an idea: she pulled out a small black light she always kept in her jacket. Buster and Petrofus went up to her side to watch the female detective get to work. Fern turned on the light and moved it slowly down the victim. "Nothing on the face, neck, breasts…here!" said Fern, half to herself. On Prunella's abdomen was a message. "Invisible ink. So now they want to show off how clever they are," said Buster. The three detectives carefully read the message. The penmanship wasn't great, but it was still good enough to be read through a black light.

We failed on the first,

But won on the next pair,

We're the Chalice Killers, so beware.

The fourth died in pain,

She deserved to suffer, for she was vain.

Try and stop us, Fern and Buster,

Bring all the strength you can muster.

The fifth will really be fun,

Don't travel alone, or you'll be done.

Fern read the message over and over again. "They are really confident now in their capabilities," she finally said. Buster pulled out a small notepad and began to write down the threatening words. The three detectives stood there and looked at the ominous poem. "DCI, you think they're going to target you or me?" asked Fern quietly. Petrofus pulled out a flask and took a swig. "They sure made it sound like one of us is next," replied the DCI. Fern thought about what the previous victims went through. Drugged. Kidnapped. Gang raped. Brutally murdered through torture. It was truly death from the darkest depths of hell.

"Mae, come take a picture of this please," called Fern to Mae Turk, who was the main photographer for the police force. Mae was taking pictures of the body from a few feet away, but quickly hurried over to the detectives. She took half a dozen pictures of the poem. "This is fucked up, guys," she told them. Fern stood up and lite a cigarette. "Yes it is," replied Fern quietly. She was sincerely worried about herself and Petrofus. If the Chalice Killers got their hands on one of them, then that would spell disaster for the case. Not to mention, it would mean a horrible demise saturated in pain and suffering.

"Where do we go from here? There's thousands of young women in Elwood City. It's almost impossible to predict when and where they will strike next," commented Buster as he pulled out a granola bar. Fern was thinking the same thing. What other leads did they have? Burchett seemed to exhaust everything he knew about his criminal group. Then, something popped up in Fern's mind.

"Wait, we do have something!" said Fern, turning to Buster and Petrofus. "Burchett's criminal record was erased. That means someone on the inside is with the Chalice Killers." Petrofus looked at the victim's body. "Either that or they paid off the mole," suggested the DCI. "Burchett said that he was paid ten grand to join the group, which means the leader has money," added Buster, "it wouldn't be out of the question to suggest that the mole was paid to erase the records." Fern processed the scenario. Erased criminal records…who in the police force would do that? Was a mole the best explanation?

"Jenna said that there was absolutely no evidence of her attack…meaning that the Chalice Killers have extended knowledge of forensics," said Fern. She hit a long drag, and waited for her associates to comment. Buster's eyes widened in epiphany. "Someone on the inside, plus knowledge of forensic evidence…are you suggesting that Powers is a suspect?" asked Buster. Fern nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but Powers has access to the criminal record archive, plus he knows everything about forensics, including how to hide evidence at the scene of a crime."

Petrofus shook her head. "Walters, other law enforcement members have enough knowledge to hide evidence of kidnapping and gang rape. Powers couldn't logically be the only suspect."

Fern knew her boss had a point, but intuition said otherwise. "It's actually a miracle that the Chalice Killers hid absolutely every piece of evidence at the scene of Jenna's attack. No ordinary officer could do that."

Buster and Petrofus looked at each other, then looked back at Fern. "I hate to admit it, but you might be right about Powers," admitted Petrofus.

"Plus, Powers always comments he is in bed before 11pm. Maybe he's just covering up his nocturnal activities with the Chalice Killers?" suggested Buster.

"My thoughts exactly, Baxter," said Fern. "All the attacks took place at night, or at least after the business day was over. There are no contradictions to think Powers is a suspect."

Petrofus took another swig from her flask. "There's one problem though, Walters," she said, "Why would Powers commit kidnap, rape and murder? He has a wife and kids. His profile doesn't match that of a psychopath."

Fern still had confidence in her theory. "Well, Rattles seemed to be normal guy in his late 20's who had a serious relationship with Jenna. Then all of a sudden, everything goes to shit. Obviously, the Balancer can influence even the most normal people."

Petrofus and Buster looked at the ground in deep concentration, as if they were debating whether to go along with Fern's hypothesis. It was a serious matter to make Powers a suspect, but if it was true, then there would be drastic consequences. Petrofus let out a sigh.

"Alright, Walters, we will check out Powers. But, this just stays between us three, got it?" said the DCI as she sternly looked at her two detectives. Fern and Buster nodded. Things just got even more personal, not to mention dangerous. The case was taking a turn for the worst. If the Chalice Killers had a genius with vast knowledge of forensics on their side, then they were indeed far stronger than anticipated. Only time would tell if Powers was truly a Chalice Killer, or just a victim of an inaccurate theory.


	12. Chapter 12: Precautions

Chapter 12: Precautions

"Is this gonna hurt, Doc?" asked Fern as she looked over her shoulder.

"It's intense, but the pain subsides in a few seconds," replied Doctor Walker. Fern was sitting on an examination table at the hospital. She had her shirt off and was waiting for the doctor to implant a tracker in between her shoulder blades. Buster and Petrofus were in the room too. Petrofus was next in line for the precaution.

"Alright, Fern, here we go, on three," said Doctor Walker, "One, two, three." CLICK. A needle containing the tracker shot throw several layers of skin on Fern's back. "Arrghh, that hurts like a bitch!" groaned Fern as she winced from the pain. Doctor Walker pulled the needle out and examined the exposed end.

"It's empty, so the tracker is in there now," he commented. He placed a bandage over the bleeding hole, then tossed the needle in a sharps container.

"Alright, Kaylie, you're up now," said Doctor Walker as he grabbed another implant needle. Petrofus, as expected, had little emotion on her face. She took off her shirt and switched places with Fern on the examination table. Fern put her shirt back on and sat down next to her partner.

"On three, Kaylie," said the doctor, "One, two, three." CLICK. Petrofus' face didn't even flinch. "Man, DCI, you're almost too tough," crackled Buster as he munched on some fruit snacks.

"After spending two decades in the homicide division, you get pretty tough," replied Petrofus. Doctor Walker patched up the DCI, then the DCI slipped her shirt back on.

"Anything else I can help you detectives with?" asked Doctor Walker.

"No thanks, Doc. We'll see ourselves out," said Petrofus.

The three detectives started heading out of the hospital. "Just a reminder, you two: this is just in case the Chalice Killers get bold and go after one of us females," stated the DCI. Fern and Buster nodded in comprehension.

"What's the range of the trackers?" asked Fern. Petrofus took a swig from her flask and cleared her throat. "It's about 300 miles, so unless the Chalice Killers drag us to Canada, we should be okay."

"How the hell are you gonna get those things out of your backs?" asked Buster with a hint of humor.

"Simple: a little anesthetic, and cut the shit right out with a scalpel," said the DCI nonchalantly.

"Maybe your wife would always like to know where you go at night, DCI," joked Buster.

Petrofus kept a straight face. "She's already worried enough with all the victims. And keep my wife outta this, Baxter."

Buster threw his hands up in surrender, then let out a laugh. Fern wasn't really paying attention to her associates' conversation. She found it unsettling that trackers are necessary at this point in the case. Still…the poem on Prunella's body indicated the Chalice Killers would target her or Petrofus. They couldn't take any chances.

"Oh, and before I forget: these trackers can be mapped on our phones, so all three of us know each other's whereabouts until those bastards are caught," said Petrofus.

"Thank God I didn't need to get implanted," breathed Buster. Fern looked at her good-natured partner. "Consider that a blessing, Baxter," she said in a serious tone.

The detectives reached the exit doors and stepped outside. It was a sunny day, though the temperature was just above freezing. The naked trees were blowing around in the late autumn breeze. Fern pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

"Now we gotta see if Powers got anything on that chainsaw fragment," commented Fern. "It's the only lead we got, so let's hope for the best," replied the DCI solemnly.

"Well, we still got to figure out how to investigate Powers without drawing his suspicion," said Buster.

"Let's head back to the station and figure out a plan," suggested Fern. Petrofus nodded. "Let's go, and make it quick: we still have the whole day ahead of us to make some progress on the Chalice Killers."


End file.
